To Wrestle out her Happiness
by whitetiger91
Summary: Set in the Muggle verse, Hermione is with her father on a father-daughter date... and is dreading it. Can she find the time to appreciate his good intentions, and will she be able to ever enjoy herself? A one-shot that will be formed into a collection... maybe.


**To Wrestle out her Happiness**

**_A/N: I do not own anything from the world of Harry Potter. _**

**_This fic will be part of a series of short one- shots about the world of Harry Potter as Muggle!verse. The idea for this fic came to me from a challenge on the HPFC forum, and instead of searching for a story using the prompts given, I decided to not participate and write a fic on it instead, realising that it will probably be slightly more original considering no one can find one quite like it. If anyone is doing the challenge and finds this fic, congrats and good luck- I am posting for anyone and everyone with that prompt, first come first serve, otherwise I do hope this isn't too awful haha. _**

* * *

Hermione groaned- this was the very last place she wanted to be. She would have much preferred studying for her finals, or perhaps even reading to her young neighbours. She would even rather watch _The Simpsons_ or some other comical show if it meant that she didn't have to sit here.

She squirmed uncomfortably on the plastic red chair, overly aware of the poor posture it encouraged by its rigid back, as she picked a piece of sticky buttered popcorn from her bushy mane. A rather large man in a soiled vest and backwards baseball cap jostled her, causing her carefully balanced diet cola to dangerously slosh around the foam cup. The urge to glare some manners into him was hard to resist but she knew there was no point- just about everyone in the rectangle room could have been related to an ape. This thought was reaffirmed a second late as the very same man lifted his arms again, almost knocking her into unconsciousness from the smell his hair armpits emitted. Really, people had no sense.

"Having fun sweetie?"

Her father sidled past legs as he made his way down the skinny aisle of the bleachers to heir seats, juggling a vat of peanuts in his arm. She shook her head in refusal as he offered her the salty snacks, managing a small, polite smile.

"Um, of course dad. It's interesting getting to, er, experience some American culture."

Truly, she had no interest in the violent sport she was forced to watch, but that did not mean she wanted to disappoint her father. He had been so excited to have the rare day off from his dental practise and had chosen to spend it on a father- daughter outing in London. The museum had unfortunately been shut, so it was his next idea to do something that he thought she would enjoy. A famous wrestler from Bulgaria, Viktor Krum, had just signed a contract with a team in Detroit and was now visiting the United Kingdom to gain support for the activity- whilst his intentions were good, he was way off in thinking that she had a crush on the burly boy.

"Brilliant kiddo! Oh look, here he comes- not too bad looking, is he?" he nudged her in the shoulder as she scowled.

Being shorter than the crowd surrounding her, she could not make out what the boy looked like as they rose as one. She had to cover her ears quickly from the screams and chants the audience roared, wincing as it seemed to only grow louder as the boy waved to them. By the time they finally settled, she knew she would have to visit the doctor and get her hearing checked out.

She managed to pull a worn novel out of her back pack and tried to focus on the flowing words printed on the page. The people surrounding her were now sitting on their chairs, some still clapping noisily, as a man announced the beginning of the fight. She ignored the ding of a high- pitched bell that echoed across the room and tried instead to imagine that the wrestlers' grunts were the characters in her book conversing as they fenced. It managed to work for ten minutes; until her father's anxious voice broke into her thoughts.

"Ouch, that looked like it hurt! Oh, did you see that? I wonder if that counts as a point… ooh, I think he hit the mat hard!"

She barely looked up, simply nodding or providing a non-committal "mhm" every now and then. Her father appeared to be really getting into the match, and it was unusual considering he too preferred spending his time on more profitable tasks like reading the latest journals.

It was only that her father tapped her before returning his fingers to his teeth, chewing his nails in anticipation that she eventually looked up.

"Honey, did you see that? I think he may need my help fixing his teeth after that blow- do you think I should give them my card?"

"Uh, sure dad."

"Just look at them, now his over-bight looks more pronounced with the chip he sustained!" her father was now dancing from foot to foot, clearly wanting to run up there and perform surgery straight away.

Indeed, upon the small roped- off square a few meters in front of them, a large boy with crooked teeth was sitting atop another brunet, his arms pinned behind him as he slapped his palm against the blue mat for mercy. She recognised the first to be Marcus Flint, a British opponent, and promptly rolled her brown eyes. She knew of the boy's sordid reputation- why just last week the boy had been arrested for trying to sell a few party drugs to young girls at a popular night club. Of course, being an elite athlete, it was only the media that captured his acts, and he was not charged by the law. It was thus no surprised that he was now kneeing the boy's back, preventing him from getting up and participating properly.

The second boy, however, was not as easily recognisable. Posters that had been plastered around the city streets showed him to be tall with a chiselled jaw and partly lean build for a wrestler. However, the one now trying to kick out looked completely different. He had quite a bit of muscle for his young age, the scarlet silk fabric of his shorts clinging to toned thighs. Although his jaw wasn't what she would consider weak, it was nothing like the portrayal of Superman he was made out to look like. Furthermore, the boy's sweaty skin was fairly pale and not tan, making his dark eyes stand out as the most handsome feature.

Hermione felt her heart flutter a little at this insight and immediately tried to squash it down. She had no business falling for a thug like him, the boy surely loved himself. Still, she had to feel sorry for him as his manager with a dark goatee screamed at him to get up. She found that she could not tear her eyes away, and though the boy managed to get up again, he was tackled to the floor soon after.

The atmosphere must have been getting to her, causing her to feel light- headed. She needed air; she would certainly not have been clenching her fists in anticipation if she wasn't. Her lips moved involuntarily as she begged for him to get up and win, gasping slightly as he avoided an illegal punch to the face from Flint. It was just her inner thirst for justice and fairness that made her watch so intently, that was all, she thought.

The book in her hands almost slipped from her grasp by her side, and she hastily tried to resume her devouring of its contents- she was missing out on important reading time by being distracted by a silly game. Was it not better to expand her knowledge of classical novels? She brought the page closer to her face, intent on taking in each printed word as her eyes glided over them. It worked too for a few minutes- until she got to another chapter in which the main characters began to brawl in the streets. It reminded her too much of what was happening out front and she couldn't help but look up to see its progress.

Once again, Krum was on the floor, almost as though he was being paid to lie there constantly. However, this time he was watching her. She blinked and tried to calm the faint blush now tinging her cheeks. Didn't he have more important things to be doing than stare at her- perhaps like flinging off Flint who was now tugging at his thick arms? No, it appeared that he was more interested at trying to decipher the title on the book's tattered cover than win.

He must have felt her eyes on him for his own trailed up to her face. Grinning wildly, he lifted a thumb up at her, almost as though he were a Roman Emperor giving her approval to continue fighting and winked. Before she could even being to look affronted, he had then rapidly turned on his back, surprising Flint as he too fell to the floor. In a tangle of limbs, the two wrestled their way through the round.

Although she would not confess as much to anyone, it made her spirits soar that someone the likes of Viktor Krum had actually winked at her- her, the book worm, school prefect, and future historian. She didn't really care, and should've been offended at the blatant disrespect of her as a woman the wink probably meant, but it sometimes hurt that no one else could be as nice to her as that stranger was. It certainly made her feel more important than any teacher's award ever had. As such, she found herself actually being to enjoy herself and was drawn into the rest of their match, whooping and cheering on the boy for his nicety.

Beside her, her father began to hop up and down on his seat, and if he wasn't wearing a stiff button- up shirt, she would have expected him to take it off and wave it around his head in celebration of a victorious round. She allowed herself to stretch her tired legs, laughing as her father looked around the room with his eyes bulging out as they took in the room's activity. When he let out a somewhat embarrassing cheer, instead of hiding in shame behind her book, she stood on her tip-toes to reach his height. Placing a soft peck upon his cheek, she whispered an unheard thank you for the best day of her life so far.


End file.
